


bloom

by chlorobenzene



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 12:10:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17223830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chlorobenzene/pseuds/chlorobenzene
Summary: Tasuku thinks he understands now the affection Tsumugi holds for the fragility of flowers in bloom.





	bloom

**Author's Note:**

> for maria! 
> 
> im sorry this is so short ;; im blaming mistew takato, gay disaster, for everything.

 It's nearly seven in the morning when Tasuku returns from his morning run, sunlight peeking through the blinds of his room. Tsumugi, unsurprisingly, is still fast asleep. Tasuku allows his gaze to soften at the sight of his messy hair and the peaceful lines of his face, the rise and fall of his chest.  This, too, is a familiar routine: Tasuku waking Tsumugi up and Tsumugi mumbling _five more minutes_ into the pillow, Tasuku giving him exactly ten minutes before making sure that he wakes up this time around.

"Morning, Taa-chan," Tsumugi says at last, voice still soft with the last remnants of sleep. He rubs his eyes absent-mindedly, and Tasuku can't find it in him to chastise Tsumugi for calling him with his childhood nickname.

"Morning, Tsumu. Go water your flowers, I'm going to take a bath."

Tsumugi mumbles his sleepy assent, blearily putting on his glasses before stepping down his bed. "Morning, everyone," he says to the plants lining the shelf. Even sleepiness can't obscure the fondness in his voice; Tasuku tries and fails to tell himself that the sudden jump of his pulse is simply a result of him failing to do a proper cool-down routine.

When he returns to their room Tsumugi has already finished watering his flowers. Tasuku can feel his gaze on him, lingering a second too long at the curve of his adam's apple and the lines of his collarbones before looking away, his expression hidden.

"Tsumugi," he says, clearing his throat. "Let's go get some breakfast."  
  
Tsumugi smiles, tucking his secrets in the corner of his mouth. "Okay, Taa-chan."

 

* * *

 

They spend the morning together, in a silence that has long become anything but uncomfortable. Tsumugi is sitting cross-legged on the floor of the lounge, a red pen in hand as he marks his students' mock exams. He's wearing his old pair of glasses, wire-rimmed and round, making him look far younger than his age. Tasuku looks at it and thinks, _it will get in the way_ , before catching himself mid-thought. _Get in the way of what?_

"Do you want to go somewhere today?" Tsumugi asks, putting his pen down.

"Where?"  
  
"Oh, anywhere is fine," Tsumugi replies. "I just feel like going out today, you know? We can go to the florist, see if they have anything new in stock."

"You just want me to help you carry fertilizers again, don't you," Tasuku deadpans, his tone accusatory. There is no bite behind it;  they have both played this game of push and pull for so long that everything falls into place as naturally as breathing. They know how it would end even before it begins—in this game neither of them ever loses.

"Maybe," comes the cheeky reply. This is a side of Tsumugi he rarely lets other people to see, hiding the playful roundness of his voice behind the walls he put up as a dedicated actor and an ever-diligent leader; a part of Tasuku wants to claim it as his own, selfish as it might be.

"Fine. I'll go start the car."

He relents—of course he relents. The others tell him how soft he is on Tsumugi, jokes about how he has Tasuku wrapped around his fingers. They don't understand, so Tasuku pays them no mind.

He knows when Tsumugi beams at him that this, too, is triumph.

 

* * *

 

The florist greets Tsumugi by his first name and whisks him away to show him their latest shipment mere seconds after they've entered the shop, leaving Tasuku alone with the vibrant blooms around him. He has never shared Tsumugi's parental affection to them, and it wasn't even until Tsumugi loaned him his copy of the Illustrated Guide to the Language of Flowers that he knew of the meanings hidden behind their petals. Tasuku held on to the book for longer than strictly necessary, flipping through its worn pages as he contemplated putting his feelings into a bouquet of hyacinth orchids and begonias and tied it with a ribbon, a language he doesn't speak but Tsumugi understands by heart. He decided against it, in the end—it had felt like hiding, like cowardice. He wants, _needs_ , to say the words out loud—they have no meaning, otherwise. And yet they keep turning into dust in his throat, making him choke and sputter like a beginner actor fumbling over his adlibs.

"Those are comet orchids."

Tasuku blinks, snapping out of his reverie. Tsumugi is standing by his side, his expression pensive. In front of them is a planter of white flowers in bloom, their petals shaped like stars. "They mean 'to be together forevermore' in flower language."

Tsumugi is looking at him now, lips curved knowingly. Tasuku thinks he might be able to drag Tsumugi's secrets out of him if only he knows the right things to say, unlocking this puzzle box of feelings unnamed. Things like _I want to stand next to you_ and _my feelings haven't changed even now._

What he says instead is, "Can I kiss you?"

Tsumugi's smile looks like petals unfurling as he tiptoes, cupping Tasuku's cheeks in his hands. His slender fingers are calloused from years of gardening but his lips are soft as they meet Tasuku's own, and Tasuku thinks he understands now the affection Tsumugi holds for the fragility of flowers in bloom.

The kiss leaves them both with flushed cheeks and a gleam in Tsumugi's eyes. Tasuku looks at him, the slant of his nose and the color high on his cheeks, and he can feel the words coming out of him in a rush, uncharacteristically so. There is no need for bouquets, after all, no need for anything but this to close the distance between them, to give it a name.

"Tsumugi, I—"

 

* * *

 

They still argue loudly over scripts and who is better at drawing Tsumugi's pet dog, after. Tasuku still goes on his morning run every day before dawn and Tsumugi still needs fifteen minutes to fully wake up in the morning. They still go to the florist together, where Tsumugi inevitably gets Tasuku to help him carry half the things he buys and is not in the least apologetic about it. It almost feels like nothing has changed between the two of them, except that it has—because now Tasuku knows how the tips of those calloused fingers feel on his bare skin, knows how perfect the jut of Tsumugi's hipbones feel under his hands. Now Tsumugi plants kisses like flowers on the landscape of his body, their language just as secret.

Now everything feels like a promise: this is where the epilogue ends and they begin.


End file.
